25 Days of MARVELlous Holiday Season Drabbles
by Terrenis
Summary: …or 24 Drabbles about MCU Characters starring in Christmas and Winter Fairy Tales, Christmas movies and books - and one Drabble set in 2014. It's my personal Advent Calendar for you. Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, but their respective owners!
1. Chapter 1

December 1st – A Warm Light in the Coldness

* * *

It wasn't until a few months after the war had officially ended that things went downhill for Steve.

At first, it was only his health, but that was nothing new. He has always been sick when the weather became colder and rainier. But being sick so often, he couldn't get to work and as a result, finally lost his job. Losing his job but also had meant that he couldn't afford his small apartment anymore. It wouldn't have been a problem, if Bucky would have been here. He surely would overwork himself just to make sure that Steve would survive the cold season, much to Steve's dismay.

But Bucky wasn't here anymore. His best guy never came back from the war, fell to his death in the Swiss Alps. Steve had only made it this far because Bucky's remaining family was so kind to take him in, despite Steve's loud protests. He didn't want impose himself on them, since they were still grieving over Bucky. But Rebecca and her mother insisted on it, just because that's what Bucky would have wanted.

So he had moved in with them, but started looking for an opportunity to make some money to support them a little bit. It wasn't easy, but finally he started selling matches in the most notorious corners of Brooklyn.

Just like today.

Today was the first day of December. The streets were snowed in, already decorated for the upcoming holiday season, and an icy wind whirled the white substance in every gap. Steve coughed roughly, his throat not getting better ever since it started hurting earlier that week. It didn't help that the wind managed to get into his thin clothing, leaving him shiver mercilessly.

On top, the streets were almost empty, since most people had the common sense to stay at home. Only he, only he was too stubborn to do that and Bucky would have scolded him if he were here. But Steve had to make some money and so he squatted in a corner, from where he could overview the street, but the wind couldn't torment him as much.

For hours, Steve waited patiently for potential customers, the chattering of his teeth becoming worse and worse the more time went by. It was in times like this that he missed his mother and his Bucky. He missed decorating their small apartment with what few Christmas decorations they had. He missed the warm smell of apples, cinnamon and nuts. He missed everything. But at the moment he just wanted to get warm.

His gaze fell on the small bag with the match-boxes. Surely his boss wouldn't mind if he would light one or two matches to keep himself from freezing to death. His decision made, Steve took out a box with shaky hands and opened it, taking one of the thin sticks out.

It took all his willpower to bring it to the side of the box, where he had to strike it against to set it on fire, only barely managing it. But he made it.

The flame was flickering in a warm, yellow colour and Steve had to hold his one free hand around it to protect it from the harsh breeze. But it was warm and that was the main thing. Steve closed his eyes for a moment and let himself drift.

Then it happened.

When he opened his eyes again, he wasn't in the cold alley corner anymore. Instead, Steve found himself in his old apartment. It was warm and full of the things he missed so much – the festive smell, his and Bucky's socks hung up over the fireplace, a tiny, but decorated tree in the corner with a few presents under it.

"Hey, what took you so long, Stevie?" a long gone voice asked him. Steve almost cried, when he saw Bucky on the shabby couch, huddles up under a blanket and obviously waiting for him to join there.

"Buck!" he whispered, tears clouding his vision. If this was a dream, then he didn't want to wake up anymore.

Bucky looked at him strangely. But before Steve could say something, his vision started to fade…

…and he woke up, being back into the unforgiving icy weather.

For a moment, he was confused about what had happened. But when he saw the burnt out match in his hand, he wondered if his dream had to do with these matches. There was only one way to find out.

Steve took out another match and stroke it carefully against the box.

The yellow flame flickered to life and everything became warm again.

Steve was at home. Finally.

* * *

I'll see this Advent Calendar Collection as a personal challenge to overcome my writer's block.

If you can guess the story, fairy tale, book or movie mentioned, you'll get a kudos from me.

And feel free to suggest ideas for the drabbles. But it should have at least something to do with Christmas or Winter.

I'm also on Tumblr: .com.


	2. Chapter 2

December 2nd – Miracles happen

* * *

The Soldier was on the run – from the HYDRA base nearby, their annoying HYDRA agents and their pack of blood hounds, whose barking he could hear even here, although they were miles away. His bare feet made a crunching in the semi-frozen snow and his heavy breathing was the only thing he could hear in the middle of one of Russia's deepest, snowed-in forests.

The Soldier still wondered how he had ended up here anyway. Just this morning, he had woken from another cryo-induced sleep, probably about to be prepared for his next mission. And still – something had been different.

Instead of being confused and unaware of his surroundings, he had a clear mind for the first time in what must have been decades. And he remembered everything – who he had been, what had been done to him, what he had done and, more importantly, who he had loved.

But instead of letting his justified anger and rage get the upper hand, he had played the part of the dutiful asset, but only until they had freed him from the shackles that had bound to that awful monstrosity, which they called 'The Chair'. From then on, it happened very quickly.

Grabbing two or three guns of all kinds, a few broken limbs and necks here, an aimed shot in the forehead there. The Soldier knew how to fight his way out of the base into the Russian wilderness in the middle of winter. He didn't care that he was only wearing a top and short and that it was freezing outside. He just wanted to get out.

The Soldier ran as long as his aching feet carried him and until he couldn't hear the dogs anymore. Only then he allowed himself to collapse under a large, snow-covered fir tree, leaning against the trunk, although this one was rough and covered with sharp. His tired eyes slowly slipped shut, when the adrenaline rush started wearing down, and for a short moment, he gave in into his body's need for rest.

It was already getting darker, when a noise startled him out of his sleep. For a moment, the Soldier believed that HYDRA had caught up with him, but the old man with the beard watching him didn't exactly look like those assholes. In fact, he had never seen anyone wearing the clothing the man wore – a long, embroidered blue Russian coat, held by a traditional Russian belt, a hat in the same colour as the coat and валенки, traditional felt boots. In his hands, he held a staff, which looked like it was made of ice, and the Soldier swore he could see a troika not far away.

"Кто ты?" he asked the old man, who laughed out that loud. The sound somehow soothed the Soldiers shaky nerves.

"Oни называют меня Дедушка Мороз. But I thought you'd knew that already, James. Everyone knows me." The man, no, Dedushka Moroz chuckled, having switched from Russian to a heavily accented, but surprisingly flawless English. "Aren't you freezing? You are almost unclothed."

James looked away. Of course the man was right. But after all what happened, he was still wary when it came to trusting strangers. So, naturally, he answered:

"No."

Ded Moroz chuckled and came slowly closer. When he had reached James, he slowly opened his belt, making the young man flinch.

"Ah, I see. You're stubborn one. But I have a suggestion make. I'm going to take off my coat and cover you with it, so you can warm up a bit, while I keep watch. And later, we'll get you back to civilisation." The old man said, all the while taking his blue coat off, revealing a white tunic and blue trousers, and covered the Winter Soldier with it.

James couldn't deny that the coat shut out the arctic temperatures very efficiently, and suddenly felt very sleepy again. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a moment and let Dedushka do as he wanted to. Within seconds, the former Winter Soldier fell asleep, this time a natural sleep, while Ded sat down beside him and watched over him.

What he didn't know was that in the morning he would wake up, clad in the warmest winter clothing, a few presents at his side that would help him to get back in the more inhabited areas of Russia and finally back to the land where he originally came from.

But this night, he only dreamt of a golden-haired man and a warm apartment waiting for him beyond the Atlantic Ocean.

* * *

Кто ты? – Who are you?

Oни называют меня Дедушка Мороз. – They call me Dedushka Moroz (Father Frost).


	3. Chapter 3

December 3rd – A strange Intruder

* * *

Clint Barton was a humble man. Sure, he was a former SHIELD agent, recently an Apartment Building Owner, Avenger and Part-Time Dog Sitter. But there were times when a man really needed some off-time from saving the world from alien armies, monsters and weird, murderous robots, created by bored billionaires.

So he usually treated himself to a 'work'-free December, using his free time to sleep in, decorate his building for the holiday season and trying to chase away the "Tracksuit Mafia". Clint also purposely ignored any avenger-related issues. But maybe, for once, he should have taken Steve's call this evening and he'd spared himself the crappy situation he was currently in.

"Well, this is awkward!" Natasha said, staring at the same spot, at which Clint was staring, a scowl on his tired face.

"I thought, it was one of the Tracksuits trying to get into my building again. And it was only a warning shot. How am I supposed to know that it will kill him?" the archer complained. Natasha turned her head towards his direction and gave him "The Scowl".

"Clint, you never miss. You're the best marksman in the world, aside from James. And there's no way hell you can overlook that big sled and all those dancing and prancing reindeers." She stated the already well-known fact. Clint winced at the mention of her Ex, the infamous Winter Soldier, and the fact that he missed such an important detail. Then he turned his attention back to the scene in front of him.

"You've got to help me, Nat. I don't know what to do now." Clint practically begged.

The redheaded woman rolled her eyes, but started to walk to where the body was lying. Now crouching above it, she frowned, picking up the red and white coat from the victim's clothing since the body itself seemed to have vanished into thin air. There was a note attached to the white fur. Natasha picked it up and read its content. Well, it seemed that her idiot archer had brought himself into a very interesting situation.

"You're in trouble, Clint!" Natasha finally replied, slowly going back to aforementioned troublemaker.

"No Shit, Sherlock!" this one stated.

The Russian Spy raised an eyebrow before replying with an honest expression on her face:

"Well, according to this note, which was attached to your 'victims' clothing – well, let's just say that since you shot Santa Clause, you're his official replacement. Congratulations, Clint, you're Santa now. Santa Barton."

Clint's jaw dropped, almost literally.

"Honestly?" he asked, a strange squeaking sound escaping his mouth.

"Scout's Honour!" the redhead gave as an answer, passing the note to him.

The Archer read it through, again and again. But the words stayed the same, no matter how often he read.

"Well…Fuck!" he cussed, dropping his head.

He was so screwed.


End file.
